Shipwrecked & Comatose

I took my vacation this summer at the annual Chincoteague Pony Swim.  I have written about the swim many times, so I probably don't need to say how much time is spent waiting on a boat for several hours for the ponies to cross.  It's usually the same group of people who go on our boat, but we had some newcomers this year. It was an active and cheerful older couple who were kind, funny, and polite, but whom I heard whisper to each other about how sad there were so many out of shape people on the scene.  I made an offhand remark about fitness at one point and the husband said to me, "You look very strong and athletic."  That remark made my day.  These past few months are starting to show.  I don't look out of shape. Or do I? I am still my own worst critic.  I still hate the way I look.  When I see myself in the mirror I can't take my eyes off the spare tire that sits above my hips and is starting to succumb to gravity.  I compare it to wearing a child's

I am fortunate enough to be taking a brief European vacation this summer.  (I don't want you to think I'm a dumb American who thinks Europe is a country, so I had better specify now I'm going to the Czech Republic.)  As I make sure my seat assignments are correct for the flight, check out guidebooks for sights I want to see and restaurants where I want to eat, and make packlists of the best clothes to wear, I also find myself falling into the abyss of travel etiquette websites. I like to explore the websites that help me navigate the quirky customs of the country I'm visiting so I make no major faux pas.  Unfortunately it's also easy to find myself checking out the dozens of sites out there enumerating everything wrong with American tourists.  There are sites explaining how not to look like an American tourist (although it doesn't matter because other sites tell you Europeans can practically smell an American tourist no matter how hard she tries to blend in).